Stronger and Stranger
by AllIsButToys
Summary: 'He had no purpose, except possibly to die here, trapped in a dank cell with a faceless girl.' A Soldier trying to regain his identity. A woman trying to get home.
1. Chapter 1

**Stronger and Stranger by AllIsButToys**

"_the more you love a memory the stronger and stranger it becomes"  
_Vladimir Nabokov

**Prologue**

To the outside world, he recognised, there seemed to be nothing unusual about the figure he cast. A man in a worn shirt and cap, standing in front of one of the many panels of information held in the building.

He read the words.

Words about friendship.

Loyalty.

Sacrifice.

Words about a past he could not remember.

His head pounded as he struggled to understand their meaning. To understand what had been kept from him all these years. His fists clenched at his side… and then a small, warm hand wrapped itself around his own right hand, twining fingers together and reassuring in the simplest of ways (yet still a novelty for the broken man).

She called his name, his real name, softly and he turned to look at her.

'Have you made your decision?'

**Chapter 1**

The Soldier had lost count of how many days he was held before it happened.

At first he thought the girl they threw into his cell was one of their own, sent to extract information from him. As he watched her he realised that he was wrong. Not even his former comrades could have feigned the fear that radiated from her every pore.

She sat huddled against the far corner of the room. They had thrown her there, the ones who brought her, and she had yet to move or speak. She had glanced briefly in his direction before the door had been slammed shut behind her, but all he had seen was a set of wide, terrified eyes. The ragged rhythm of her breathing, however, spoke volumes.

He ignored her, she was nothing to him, and he was nothing to anyone. He had no mission, no purpose, he had been left here to starve, to rot, a dog that had disobeyed, had tried to run from his master and had been caught.

They had caught up to him several months after DC. He had been trying to fly to Moscow, to find out where it all started. They had brought down the whole damn plane just to get him. He didn't know how to feel about that. How to feel about the unseeing eyes of the young boy and his mother who had been sat in his row, or the ninety-five other people onboard.

He was not unfamiliar with death, but that moment had not been of his making. He had been controlled for so long that when his few moments had ended it was worse than before.

And now here he was. He had no purpose, except possibly to die here, trapped in a dank cell with a faceless girl.

/-/

He heard the footsteps of the approaching guards before she did. She jumped as the door opened and a bottle of water was flung her direction.

So they wanted her alive, then, he noted. She must be someone important. Someone they could ransom, or someone they could tr…

He quelled that notion and the unknown but painful images that came with it.

But why would they put the girl in here with _him_? Especially if they wanted to keep her alive. Then again, he thought ruefully, it wasn't as if he could do anything in his current situation.

It was another two minutes before he heard the quiet rustling of cloth as the girl unfolded her limbs and slowly reached for the water bottle. The Soldier could only see her outline, the only light in the room being directly above him, blinding him. The girl was cast in shadows while he was lit up, a macabre image of suffering and pain.

He heard the soft movement of the water as she took a small mouthful. _Clever girl_, he thought, _make it last_. He expected her to retreat back into the corner, into the semblance of safety given by the dark. Instead she started to slowly approach him. _Not clever after all_, the Soldier thought. What sort of woman would approach a man in a cell, with a metal arm, whose hands were locked onto the walls? He wanted to curse at her, tell her to stay away, to leave him, but the filthy rag they had forced in his mouth when he was unconscious prevented him from doing so.

Finally the girl stepped into the light.

She was a civilian, that much was clear from her clothes: blue jeans, brown boots, a printed t-shirt. A cursory glance told him that she was unused to combat. Her body lacked the muscle tone of a fighter. She was also very young, early twenties probably, and still obviously afraid.

She was fighting that fear as she knelt down beside him. 'I'm uh- going to take this off. Please don't bite me, okay?'

His eyes flashed to hers and her hands stilled, hanging suspended in mid-air. What was she thinking? This girl, despite her nerves, was reaching out to help him, to touch him. Didn't she know who he was? What he was?

Fear and determination battled in her deep blue eyes as she moved again, her hands gently pulling the gag from his mouth and over his chin. He breathed deeply through his mouth and instantly regretted it, the feeling of burning in his throat multiplying tenfold.

The girl seemed to sense this, unscrewing the lid off the water bottle and lifting it to his lips. At first he tried to resist, it wasn't meant for him.

'It's alright,' she whispered, glancing over her shoulder at the door every now and then. 'Please…'

He took a small sip, knowing not to overwhelm himself as he had previously done. Then another, and another, before titling his head away, signalling that he was finished.

The girl was watching him carefully. He stared back, an unexpected feeling of shame brewing when her eyes started to catalogue the series of cuts and abrasions on his face and chest. Before he knew what she was doing she had pulled a small square of material from the back pocket of her jeans and was using yet more of her precious water to dampen it. 'May I?' she asked, gesturing to one of what he imagined was one of the bloodier cuts on his cheek. He nodded slowly, never taking his eyes from her face.

'My grandpa,' she started haltingly, 'never went anywhere without a pocket handkerchief. I never understood it before, it went back to his days in the army I think.'

He knew _what_ she was doing, trying to distract him as her hands moved gently over his face, washing his cuts and removing the grime from his cheeks. What the Soldier didn't understand was _why_ she was doing it. What could this girl possibly gain from helping him? What did she want?

'He never spoke about it, the war,' she continued as her hands moved to his chest, 'even 'til the day he died, he never mentioned it once. He always wanted us to be prepared though… his grandchildren that is. Would never let us leave his house without a handkerchief and a pen knife… wish I'd listened to him about the penknife now,' she said, bitterness creeping into her voice, 'and to hell with…'

She stopped, her voice faltering. Though he couldn't feel it the Soldier knew she had brushed the metal of his arm. Their eyes locked once again, dark blue and steely grey and he watched as the girl took a deep breath and continued her story as her hands wiped the dirt from around his scarred shoulder.

'He would have been ashamed that I was abducted so easily.' She had finished now and her hands sat limply in her lap, at a loss for what to do next. She offered him a little more water and he took it, noting with something that felt very much like unease that her meagre supplies had been depleted by half already. But if she was a hostage, they would keep her alive. They would want payment.

She was still looking at him. Not staring with the horror and fear that he was so used from his targets, nor the revulsion of his commanders. She looked at him as if she were trying to solve a very difficult riddle: curiosity, that was what it was.

After what seemed to be an eternity she stood and walked back to the corner, drawing her knew up and wrapping her arms around herself. She seemed disappointed somehow, in a way she had not been when she had entered the cell.

Her voice was softer now, and in the dimness he could still make out her eyes, looking at him hesitantly, expectantly. 'I'm Darcy.'

The Soldier recalled a moment when it was raining metal and glass, when his name (his _other_ name) had been revealed to him.

'James,' he whispered into the darkness, 'my name… is James.'

**Author's Notes**

Hello again readers!

First a confession: the Darcy/Loki story I had been planning is still… well, being planned. In the meantime this idea sprang to mind and wouldn't go away. So here we are!

I'm not sure how regular updates will be as I don't have this fully planned out as I usually do with stories, so _please _add me on Story Alerts if you want to follow along.

I know they have never shared any screen time, but for some reason the idea of Darcy and Bucky just worked for me (for reasons that will hopefully be revealed in the story).

As ever, I own nothing that you would recognise. I will be pulling characters from across the Marvel Cinematic Universe and possibly a few from the comics as well, so be on the lookout for them.

Reviews are always appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

After they had given the girl… Darcy, her bottle of water there had been no sign of them for at least a day. It was difficult to mark the passage of time here, where there was no natural light to indicate the time of day. The Soldier was used to it, the girl clearly was not.

After the first six hours her stomach began to rumble. After seventeen hours her water had run out and the Soldier thought she would regret giving him so much.

'Your necklace,' he said, breaking the silence of the room, 'is it metal?'

He had noticed the silver pendant earlier, a swirling Celtic design by the look of it.

'Yes,' came the small voice from the dark.

'If you suck it, it will keep you from feeling thirsty.'

His suggestion was met by a small huffing noise that the Soldier thought might have been a sad little laugh. 'In any other situation I would probably find that suggestion funny,' she said, her voice a bit bolder now, 'seeing how it was given to me a friend's fiancé.'

The corner of the Soldier's lip twitched.

/-/

After what he estimated to be just over twenty four hours they came again, shoving a paper plate with some bread and an apple into her hands, along with another bottle of water. She had waited until the footsteps had retreated back down the hall before feeding him most of the bread and half the apple. After over a week of not eating he had never tasted anything so good.

/-/

Every day for a week they brought her food. Bread, a piece of fruit, once or twice a bit of chicken or ham. And every day she shared it with him. _They_ obviously didn't suspect her of doing it, otherwise they would have stopped feeding her. It wasn't as if they were suddenly friends, after all. After she was finished feeding him or letting him drink from her water, Darcy would go back to her corner.

Until the eighth day.

/-/

He heard their loud approach long before they reached the door. Three of them, drunk. Coming for her.

A surge of protectiveness he did not know he possessed forced him to open his mouth, 'Darcy, get away from the door.'

She was on her feet immediately. Her eyes moved frantically around the room looking for some escape that she had to know by now wasn't there. Instead she cowered beside him.

'What's happening?' she whispered.

The door banged loudly against the wall as the three crashed into the room. They squinted into the dark for a moment before the leader noticed her at his side.

'Lewis' become Soldier's pet, better come with us is y'know what's good for you,' he slurred, staggering over to them.

The Soldier growled at the man. From the time they entered the room he could smell their stench of cheap alcohol and cigarettes.

'C'mon Lewis,' one of the others goaded her, leering at her chest as he spoke. 'We're here to save you. He's too dangerous for the likes of you.'

The Soldier struggled against his restraints, scowling viciously at the man closest to him as Darcy edged ever closer to him. 'He's not the one threatening me.' Her voice was stronger than he imagined it would be. There was some fight in this girl yet.

They laughed at that. The smaller man at the back had yet to talk but from the way he was looking at Darcy the Soldier had no delusions about what would happen when they took her from this room.

The tallest of the three goons took another step forward. The Soldier could only watch as he twisted his hand in Darcy's hair, pulling her from the floor. The Soldier felt her fingers brush against his cheek as she was pulled away from him.

'They refused to pay us,' he slurred, his face inches from hers, 'said they didn't negotiate with the likes of us.' He twisted his hand tighter into her hair and she let out a whimper, but the Soldier could see she was fighting to keep her fear and hurt in check.

One of the others laughed, 'No ransom for you girlie, boss says we can do what we like with you now.'

Darcy's face paled but her voice didn't waver. 'Go to hell.'

She didn't cry as they dragged her from the room and the Soldier continued to struggle as her eyes remained on his face until they closed the door.

The first sound he heard after that was a distinctive slap. And another. And another.

He thrashed against the wall as images flashed in front of his eyes, the specifics of each eluding him. A young woman smiling at him despite a distinctive bruise around her eye, a brawny man blocking his way, himself as a scrawny dark haired boy standing up to the brute…

Her scream was the last straw.

With renewed strength he pushed at the restraints that held him, his prosthetic breaking through the metal. He tore the other cuff off with ease and staggered to his feet, his head swimming with vertigo after being stationary for so long. Somehow he made it to the door, wrenching it open in a cloud of dust and rubble.

He tried to ignore the rip in Darcy's top and the way the leader had her pinned against the wall, but his blood was boiling. It had been too long since he had fought and his rage consumed him.

The first thug didn't stand a chance as he was thrashed against the wall. Unconscious or dead, the Soldier didn't care. The next was trickier, he had had the time to draw his gun and had to be disarmed before he was sent crashing to the floor.

By the time he faced the third the Soldier found himself facing a man with a gun to Darcy's head and a thick arm around her throat. He halting, at a loss of what to do, but the decision was taken out of hind hands as he saw Darcy sink her teeth into the man's arm. He howled with rage but the shock made him relinquish his hold on Darcy, who ducked. Her captor joined her on the floor less than a second later with a bullet hole in his forehead.

'James,' she choked out and he was at her side instantly, pulling her up. He held her at arm's length, assessing for damage. 'I'm okay,' she said, as his eyes took in her dishevelled clothing and the growing bruise on her cheek, 'they didn't get a chance to…' she hiccupped, a strangled sort of noise and the Soldier knew he had to keep her focused. To keep himself focused.

'Do you know how to use one of these?' he said, pressing the pistol he had taken into her hand.

'Sort of,' she muttered.

She would be a liability if she didn't know how to use the gun, but somehow that didn't matter. 'Then just follow my lead.'

He took the handguns from the other two cronies. One groaned and received a swift kick to the head to ensure his compliance. The soldier looked at the shaking form of the girl beside him and tucked one of the guns into his waistband, reaching for one of her hands with his good one.

Her eyes were glassy, unseeing as he looked into them. 'Darcy,' he said, bending over so his face was level with hers, 'Darcy? I'll get us out of here, I promise. I'll get you home.' Her mouth tightened, the determination he was growing used to returning. She nodded and let him pull her along, through winding dark corridors.

It wasn't long before the alarms sounded. The dog had escaped its cage and it had been noticed. But this dog was the Winter Soldier, he thought to himself, and he was ready for freedom.

/-/

It was another half hour before they came across anyone. The Soldier pushed Darcy back and around a corner as he opened fire on the men blocking their way. Three fell and one retreated. The Soldier let him go, pulling Darcy after him. Whatever way he was heading, was the way to the exit.

Two hours, several stolen weapons and at least twenty bodies later the Soldier could feel Darcy beginning to flag.

Just as he was about to give up and find somewhere to rest, the Soldier spotted a group of men, standing around a heavily guarded door. That had to be their way out.

Taking them out was simple. None had drawn their guns, leading the Soldier to believe that if they fired they would be heard by someone. After he dealt with them, he reached for Darcy again, bringing her up the stairs and into the light.

Wordlessly she handed him a black jacket she had evidently stolen somewhere along the way and he shrugged it on.

He pulled the door open. 'Let's go. One at a time.'

Though the words came from his mouth, they were not his words. An image of a pit of fire and the sensation of the ground shaking came to mind briefly before he ushered Darcy out and into the daylight.

At least, he had thought it was daylight. Once they were in the open the Soldier squinted against the artificial brightness of the lights surrounding him. Brightly coloured signs flashed and shimmered from every building.

'Where the hell are we?' he muttered, dragging Darcy along quickly as she too looked up at the lights.

'I think we're in Las Vegas.'

**Author's Notes**

If anyone is wondering why the writing style of this piece is so sparse so far, I'm trying to write everything as the Soldier sees it. He _is _a soldier. While details are important to him they are instinctual, not something he necessarily gives great thought to.

The piece will develop with the character as we go along.

As ever, I own nothing recognisable.

I find reviews absolutely invaluable when it comes to developing my writing style and giving me the motivation to continue with stories. However, as well as thank my reviewers I would like to thank all of you who have taken time to read, and even follow this story so far.

I hope to have another update soon!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The pair rushed through the city, winding between passers-by in their hurry to be as far away from wherever they were held as possible. This must be the nice end of town, the Soldier noted, seeing the sea of evening gowns and custom suits that passed them by.

'How adverse are you to pickpocketing?' He asked Darcy as they continued.

The look she gave him was full of disbelief. 'Is that really necessary?'

'You got any money?'

She blushed, 'No.'

'Then yeah,' he drawled, rolling his eyes internally, 'it's pretty necessary.'

He wasn't one of the world's greatest conversationalists but ten minutes and three wallets later the Soldier spoke to his companion again. 'We have to get out of the city. Tonight.' He slowed their quick pace.

'If we get a bus, they can track us,' she commented astutely. 'Same goes for any plane in the country,' he suppressed a shudder at that, 'so what are you suggesting? That we walk? Where are we even going anyway? Do we have a plan? Do _you_ have a plan?'

He couldn't yet discern how much of her talk was due to nerves and adrenaline, or if this was the norm for Darcy. But a plan was slowly forming in his mind. 'I promised I'd get you home didn't I? So I'll take you to…'

'New York.'

Another image appeared briefly. The sun rising behind a skyscraper. 'New York. Then I'll come back and find the bastards who kidnapped us.' He didn't feel the need to finish that thought, but the tightening of her mouth said she understood his meaning.

Darcy nodded. He still had not relinquished his hold of her hand and found that he did not want to. He had promised he would keep this girl safe and that was what he was going to do. He had held great stock in promises once, his mind told him. And there was just something about her…

'We need to find a parking garage,' he said, looking about, 'one with no security guards. We need to… borrow a car.' He added, glancing sidelong at Darcy. She smiled weakly.

'We're turning into Bonnie and Clyde, aren't we?' The Soldier frowned, not understanding the words. 'Never mind, I just… don't feel comfortable with a lot of crime – type – things.'

His incredulity must have showed. 'But me killing those guards, that was okay?'

'That,' she said pointedly, 'was self-defence. Totally different ballgame.'

The fact that she was not afraid of him suddenly struck the Soldier. She should be afraid. She had witnessed him killing or injuring many men during their escape, and yet she was content to follow him, to believe him when he said he would protect her. This puzzled him. Why was she not swooning? She couldn't possibly be used to men like him. She was too trusting, he decided, far too trusting. They would have to work on that before he got her back to New York. It probably had something to do with how she was taken in the first place.

He spotted the sign for what looked like a dimly lit parking garage. He was about to ask the girl why she was mixed up in Hydra in the first place when an engine misfired. He reacted immediately, pushing both of them into a stairwell while he assessed the situation.

He spotted a pickup truck away from the security cameras on the ground floor. It was black, it looked fairly new and it was generic, unremarkable. It was perfect.

It was also, he discovered on lifting the hood, a lot more advanced that the cars he was used to commandeering. Some of the technology was the same, but it was swamped by a mass of unfamiliar wires and metal.

He almost hit his head when the engine roared to life. Looking around the raised bonnet he has Darcy sitting in the passenger seat, smiling at him expectantly. He closed the flap and jumped into the cab alongside her. 'Did you just hotwire this?'

'My landlord's a mechanic, he taught me a few things,' she said nonchalantly. 'Now, let's get out of here.'

He had to admit to himself, as she rifled through the different compartments in the cab, he was impressed.

/-/

Darcy's search of the cab had provided them with a packet of gum, some napkins, an old blanket, a few business cards and a handful of loose change. Not exactly the spoils of war either of them had been hoping for.

'Um, so what's the plan now?' Darcy eventually asked, as she watched the sun rising and the miles of asphalt disappearing under their tyres.

'I drive until I can't see straight, then we find somewhere to crash for a while.'

He could hear the faint amusement in her voice as she asked, 'And how's the eyesight right about now?'

'Not great,' he replied. 'But we've only been driving for…' he checked the clock on the dash, 'five hours. We should keep going a while longer, find somewhere to stay off the main roads.'

'Or there's a motel right there,' Darcy said, pointing to a sign that heralded a motel and gas station. 'If anyone's following us,' she reasoned, 'would they really expect us to do something as stupid as hide in plain sight, and when it's daylight too?' She grinned at him, 'It's all reverse psychology.'

'I don't like psychology', he muttered but the gas light was blinking at him, they would have to stop somewhere. 'But I do like caffeine.'

They filled the car with gas and the Soldier watched Darcy as she went into the shop to pay. She came back not only having paid for gas and two cups of coffee to go, but having also managed to purchase some energy bars, bottled water and even a pair of men's driving gloves.

'You did good,' he murmured once they were on the road again. He was anxious to put as many miles between them and Vegas as possible. He had no idea who was after them or what connections they might have, the best thing they could do was simply keep going.

/-/

After another two hours of driving the Soldier turned off the main road. Darcy, who had fallen asleep despite the cup of coffee jolted awake at the change in direction.

'Relax,' he said as she looked around blearily, 'there's no one following us and we need to rest.'

'M'kay,' she murmured, rolling her neck. 'Where are we?'

'Heading to Delta, Colorado,' he replied. 'We find somewhere to stay, sleep, eat and move on.'

'I hope "shower" is somewhere on that agenda, too.' Darcy quipped, pulling at her clothes self-consciously.

As he glanced over at her the Soldier also realised that they would both need new clothes. For himself was the need to look less conspicuous, but Darcy… her unkempt hair, the now purpling bruise on her left cheek and the tear in her shirt… his hands tightened on the steering wheel.

'This is a fairly big town,' she commented as she observed the early morning activity of stores beginning to open, 'there's bound to be, like, a Walmart or something.'

She was right, there was. The Soldier trailed after her now, as she filled a basket with odds and ends: packaged food, water, maps. He felt the faint twinge of embarrassment as she began sizing him up for clothing, before stuffing underwear, jeans and some casual shirts into the basket before grabbing clothes for herself.

When they reached the counter, Darcy pulled out one of the maps and studied it carefully. The Soldier catalogued the staff watching them. One old man, a young woman slightly older than Darcy, a man in his forties. None of them a threat.

The latter made him way towards them, welcoming them to the store and asking if they needed help with anything and the Soldier's mind started whirring, thinking of something to say. 'You got any heavy duty backpacks?'

The man (Bob, according to his badge) pointed them out, acting polite, but the Soldier could see his eyes studying Darcy: flicking between her torn shirt, her bruise, and the menacing looking figure he knew he cast standing behind her. He fists clenched as the man asked Darcy if they were going camping.

'Camping down at Sweitzer Lake,' the Soldier answered, gruffly. 'Our stuff got stolen in the middle of the night.'

The man's smile tightened, his eyes still returning to Darcy. Logically the Soldier knew that it was because Darcy was female, seemingly harmless and injured. It didn't mean he had to like the way the other man was appraising her.

As he processes their purchases, the Soldier let Darcy pay for them, trying to keep attention away from his hands as much as possible, even covered by the glove. He kept alert, looking around the store with the casual ease of affected boredom. Until shop-boy Bob mentioned a hotel in town.

'Nah,' Darcy said with a bright smile, before the soldier could intervene, 'we've still got out tent. But thanks for your help. We're just gonna keep heading for Lake Meade like we planned.'

/-/

The Soldier knew that Darcy had no intention of camping, which is why he drove them straight to the hotel Bob had mentioned and whispered in her ear to pay for two nights (one would look suspicious). He was surprised, however, at her little stunt in the store. If anyone asked about them they would be told that the Soldier and Darcy were headed in exactly the opposite direction. It would have been better if she had told the store attendant something even more believable (rather than their supposed plans to double back towards Vegas), but at least she had not given any clues as to where they were headed.

He dropped their newly acquired backpack on the bed as he thought this all through, and watched as Darcy proceeded to rip open the packaging on items of clothing. The Soldier pulled the maps towards him, studying the possible routes while Darcy retreated into the bathroom.

He heard the first of her sobs before they were drowned out by the sound of the shower running. He had seen it happen before, had seen men after combat when the adrenaline had faded and they were faced with what had happened and what they had lost. Why should this girl who acted strong and confident be any different?

What he had never experienced before in this lifetime was the uncomfortable tightening of his chest at the sounds of grief and distress she was trying so desperately to hide.

**Author's Notes**

Sorry for the slow update. Hopefully the next one should come along a bit faster!

As ever, I own nothing recognisable.

Reviews are always appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

To pass the time he opened the clothing she had chosen for him. Simple, nondescript clothing that could look at home on any man in the United States. She was better at this than he thought she would be, he admitted. Darcy seemed to instinctively know how to avoid attention. Maybe it was how she always acted.

He repacked the bag, making sure to place his stolen weapons at the top. He was under no illusion that just because they were out of Vegas they were out of danger. They had asked for a room near the fire escape (under the pretence that he was a smoker) and the Soldier was planning on barricading the door with the dresser before either of them slept.

After what seemed like an eternity the water shut off. He could hear the shuffling of her moving around, the rustling of clothes, the sweep of the brush through her hair. How did he remember these things? He had never lived with a woman in this life, how was he familiar with such mundane routines?

She opened the door slowly, avoiding his eyes. Her own were ringed with red and her cheek looked more inflamed than ever. A waft of steam was following her through the bathroom door, that probably hadn't helped matters.

He let her carry on, fussing with her old clothes before eventually rolling them in a ball and stuffing them in the trash. She hung her towel over the drying rack alongside her handkerchief, which she had clearly washed while in the bathroom, before sitting at the edge of the bed, at a loss for what to do next.

'Don't let anyone in this door,' he said abruptly. At the look of sheer panic in her eyes he added. 'I'll be gone for two minutes, I promise.'

She nodded and she hands went to toy with her silver necklace, a nervous gesture.

He counted the seconds from the time he left the room to when he returned, _one hundred and ten_. When he returned to the room, he found Darcy hiding behind the bathroom door and clutching one of the guns for the backpack. _Good girl_, he thought but said nothing. He sat her down on the edge of the bed again and wrapped the ice he had procured from the machine down the hall in a washcloth and knelt in front of her, holding the ice to the side of her face.

Her voice, when she spoke, was a whisper, full of confusion and hurt. 'Why are you doing all this?' she paused, her sapphire eyes burned holes into his, 'Why are you helping me?'

It was a valid question, and it shocked the Soldier that not once had he though to ask it himself. Why was helping this girl? She was not part of a mission, she had no strategic advantage to him, if anything it was an inconvenience.

He had promised to take her home, but why? Why had he done that?

He going to New York anyway, to catch the next plane to Europe. But she had told him about New York long after he had decided to intervene in her fate. Is that what it was, fate? He had always scoffed at the idea. He had no fate, no destiny. He was a soldier, The Soldier, and he followed orders, that was his lot in life. Or, at least, it had been.

No, it was not because he was ordered to. The time for taking orders was long past. He was determined to be his own agent now. What he stood for and why he fought was yet to be decided, but he would decide it himself and part of him thought he might just be helping the girl in order to stick two fingers up to whoever had taken both of them.

He knew that wasn't the reason. It was simplest explanation, the one most fitting with the life he had lived these past years, but it wasn't right. It was more complex than that and he didn't like things that were complex. This girl was now bound up with his freedom. For some reason she had become entangled in the web of deceit around him and he was not about to allow her to be hurt because of it.

Somewhere, in the shadows of the past, long before he became the Winter Soldier, before the killing and the bloodshed and the unspeakable and unforgivable things he had done he remembered an instinct. An instinct to protect someone, to look after them. Did he have a younger brother? Random images of a fair-haired boy seemed to be recalled in the oddest of moments. Whoever that boy was he had been an innocent, and the Soldier had protected him. He had been innocent too then, he knew. Could it be that after so many years, and so much red, that Darcy had pulled the same reaction from him? Is that why he was helping her?

For the first time since Washington one of his newer memories resurfaced: a dark haired girl gathering her courage enough to help someone she didn't know. He could still remember the determined look in her eyes as she made him drink, the gentle way her fingers glided over his face, the soft cadence of her voice as she tried to calm him. She had not been forced to do any of it.

She had looked after him. She had shared her food and water, she had cleaned him up, tried to keep him from going mad with what little companionship she was able to offer despite her nearly crippling fear over her situation. In her own way and as best she could she had tried to help him.

He had his answer.

'Because you did the same for me.'

Her eyes started back at him, uncomprehending. He moved his thumb from the ice to flick it across an undamaged portion of her cheek, feeling the heat of her pale skin. Her eyes moved across his own face, the lines he knew to be there. He loosened his grip of the ice and her own hand came up to hold it in place, her thin fingers brushing against his. He lifted the clothes and towel he had left on the bed and was about to close the bathroom door when he heard Darcy call out to him.

'There's a disposable razor by the sink.'

/-/

The Soldier studied the face in the mirror. After as thorough a wash as was possible while listening for possible incomings over the rush of the water he had taken Darcy's advice and shaved. He almost didn't recognise the man looking back at him, but he supposed that was the point. The cuts on his face were fully healed, while those on his torso were well on their way, but cuts and bruises had never stayed on him long. He wondered that Darcy hadn't noticed his accelerated healing abilities and he didn't know how to explain them even if she had.

He debated cutting his hair briefly but eventually figured that long hair was easier to hide his face behind. Pulling the shirt over his head he exited the bathroom, only to find Darcy already asleep on top of the bed. She must have been reading as a book lay open at her side. Taking a closer look the Soldier realised that it was a Bible, obviously the customary hotel bedside table version, and that her hand was wedged between the pages.

He pried the book away from her, careful to keep the pages she had marked. The first, he thought, was probably an accident, some obscure chapter in Ezekiel, but the second… something struck a chord with him. Had he been religious before? He didn't think so. Maybe it was just something he had heard before, picked up along the way. The words resonated deep within him:

'_Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.'_

He shrugged off the feeling as he settled onto the floor beside the bed, snatching one of the spare pillows for a bit of comfort. They both needed rest before they continued on. But, he though, pulling the maps toward himself, they also needed to know where they were headed.

/-/

When he woke he was disoriented. Instead of the bright light he was used to waking up to a muted light came from an open doorway and was accompanied by the noise of running water and the soft sound of Darcy humming.

'Good morning,' she said with a smile, 'or should I say good afternoon?'

'Time's it?' he murmured, still a little groggy.

She checked the watch she had bought yesterday. 'Coming up to five. Did you get much sleep?'

_Six hours_, he thought, more sleep than he had had in a long time. To Darcy he just nodded.

'So we've got…' she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she counted, 'about three hundred dollars cash left and a bunch of cards which I'm assuming we can't use.' He nodded again. 'I'm assuming that means no more hotels for a while then. Without restoring to more petty theft, of course.'

Despite himself the Soldier was amused. 'I thought you were okay with petty theft?' he questioned, interested in her reaction.

'Only when necessary,' she said, gesturing at her new clothes and twirling a strand of her clean hair around a finger, 'and today was _absolutely _necessary.' He felt more than heard the chuckle that escape him, but Darcy froze. 'Did… I mean… You have a nice laugh,' she said before hesitantly adding, 'James.'

That she used his name broke through the Soldier's own shock at his amusement.

**Author's Notes**

Okay, so the next update was **not **quicker. My apologies!

As ever, I own nothing recognisable.

Reviews are always appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Before they set out again, the Soldier had Darcy go into one of the smaller stores in town and stock up on food. It was early evening and he was loath to drive in the dark, to draw attention to themselves, but they had a few hours before they would lose the light and the Soldier wasn't exactly going to stick to the speed limits.

He noticed that Darcy's hands gripped the edges of her seat so hard they turned white every time he weaved through the traffic on the interstate. She never commented, though, just biting her lip and occasionally closing her eyes.

'I won't crash,' he said, after about an hour of watching her.

'I know,' she said, a half smile gracing her features. 'I'm just not good with cars going fast. I, uh, ran a guy over once. I don't want to repeat that experience, thanks.'

It was another hour before she spoke again. 'Where are we going?'

'Estes Park,' he said, checking his mirror for any cars that appeared to be following, but nothing stood out. 'It's about another three hours. We find somewhere hide for the night and start again in the morning.'

'Might as well take in the local beauty spots when there's deranged killers after you,' she muttered to herself.

From the way she was biting her lip and flexing her hands nervously, the Soldier thought that she might be working up the nerve to say something else. Even though he had only known the girl a short time, the day they met in their dark prison seemed to be long past. She hadn't spoken much in their time together, but when she did she was funny, witty, and sarcastic. Three qualities that the Soldier could relate to, for some reason. His missions hadn't required talking, but somehow he thought that the man he used to be had a healthy dose of sarcasm.

'You can talk, you know,' he said, and noted that Darcy jumped a little. 'I doubt you're normally this quiet.'

Out of the corner of his eye, the Soldier saw a genuine smile grace her features. 'No, I'm not.' Darcy angled her body towards him slightly. 'Normally people are trying to get me to _stop_ talking. I just…' she sighed looking out the windscreen with a frown, 'all my smart comments and pop culture references don't exactly fit the seriousness of the situation here. I guess that, after all you're doing for me, I didn't want to seem… irrelevant, or ungrateful. Because I am, grateful that is. For everything.'

Had anyone ever expressed gratitude to him before? The Soldier felt his cheeks heat slightly, as he answered her. 'I think we _need_ a bit more irreverence, doll. After all, how often do you get kidnapped and chased across the continental US? You run your mouth as much as you want.'

It might have been the longest sentence he had managed to string together in her presence so far. Darcy simply smiled at him and the Soldier didn't know if she had picked up on the term of address he used for her. _Doll_, he thought, _where did that come from?_

Darcy was playing with her silver necklace again, and the Soldier wondered about her involvement in this whole thing. He had no doubt as to who was chasing them: it was the same people who had always been chasing him, controlling him. He had known that from the second they pulled him from the wreckage of the plane. It didn't matter who the individuals were, they were just different faces of the same organisation.

_When they had caught up to him, bloody and half dead, they loaded him into a van. He was drifting in an out of consciousness but he managed to hear a bit of their conversation. It wouldn't have mattered before, only the mission would have mattered, but now… Now his mission was to find out who he was, where he had come from and why the man on the helicarrier had refused to kill him. 'To the end of the line.'_

_So this time he listened to his would-be handlers. His last handler had been a suit, a man who liked other people to get their hands dirty instead of him. These men looked like they were prepared to do their own dirty work, and so the Soldier had tried his best to listen to what was going on around him._

_They talked about 'the asset', the name they all used to refer to the Soldier, and about the chair. That sent a flood of fear through him until he gathered that the chair had been destroyed. They would be holding him somewhere until they built a new one._

_He knew that he had to get out, out of the vehicle, away from these people who were trying to control him again. Before he had moved more than an inch, he felt the sharp sting of a dart to the side of his neck. He had missed his opportunity. The next thing he knew he was in the dark, chained, and it was over a week before he saw another human being. She was different: she showed him kindness._

The Soldier glanced over at that girl, still twirling the piece of silver between her fingers. She was good, and innocent and kind. What could Hyrda possibly want with her? Initially he had worried that she was some sort of spy, but he didn't… couldn't believe that now. She was too innocent, too pure for this world that he inhabited. No, she wasn't a spy.

Maybe she had information they needed, he thought, but if she did she would have been tortured long before they were able to escape.

What was more likely, he thought, was that she was a girl with powerful connections but no real power herself. Hydra had obviously wanted to ransom her back to her friends, that what the goons had said when they came for her that night. When it hadn't worked she had become expendable in their eyes. What was she involved in, he wondered, that had her running with him?

'Darcy?' he started slowly, not wanting to startle her. 'Why did they take you?'

Her voice was slow and fractured as she tried to answer. 'No idea. All I know is I was out for lunch with a friend. I got up to go to the bathroom. After that I woke up when they were dragging me into the cell with you.'

He nodded tersely. 'But why you?'

He saw her teeth catch hold of her bottom lip again. 'The friend I was at lunch with is… well he's quite well known, and very rich. I think they went after me to get to him.'

The Soldier sensed that she wasn't telling him the full story, but he let it lie. It made sense, after all, that they had been holding her in exchange for money. From what he had gathered from news reports in the aftermath of the events in DC Hydra was on the defensive, they would need to regroup and rebuild their supplies and resources. That took time and it took a lot of money. Kidnapping wasn't exactly a stretch for a group who had recent tried to eliminate millions of people.

He mused on that while they continued to drive, Darcy eventually digging out the food she had bought earlier. They shared their meal of sandwiches, a chocolate bar and bottled water as they fell into a comfortable silence once again.

They were about an hour from the park when the Soldier noticed the black sedan that wove in and out of traffic behind them.

He sped up, it sped up. He went right, it went right.

'Get the handguns out of the bag, and keep your head down.' He said in a low dangerous voice. Shifting the car into a lower gear and accelerating. The other car did the same.

'We're being followed?' Darcy guessed, and the Soldier nodded. He was glad to see that she had, in fact, slumped low in her seat and had the weapons waiting for him.

If Darcy had thought his driving was frightening before, the Soldier mused, he wondered what she thought of it now. He fought his way into gaps that seemed too small, turned at the last possible second, and was doing at least thirty over the speed limit. Finally, he stopped seeing the sedan in his rearview. But he didn't take his foot off the gas. They arrived at the park in thirty minutes, but the Soldier still couldn't quite shake the feeling that there were still eyes on his back.

**Author's Notes**

As penance for the ridiculous wait between chapter 3 and 4, 5 is up a bit sooner.

I will admit that this was more of a filler chapter to get us to where we need to be for the next bit of the story. But it's still nice to see the Soldier coming out of his shell a little, thinking of things other than the thoughts that haunt him.

As ever, I own nothing recognisable. Though I wish I did.

Reviews are always appreciated. And thank you to all those who have left such encouraging reviews so far! You make my days a little brighter.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The Soldier sat with his hand on his gun that night, waiting for any sign that they were still being followed. When Darcy awoke the next morning she didn't ask him if he had slept. He knew that she realised he hadn't. He was sitting exactly the same position at the edge of the bed of their appropriated truck as he had been when she fell asleep. Sure, he had scouted the area during the night, but he still returned to his post.

Darcy had rolled her eyes at him when he had trained his gun on a young deer who had wandered into their makeshift camp the evening before. 'For the night is dark and full of Bambis.' The Soldier hadn't understood her meaning, concentrating instead on making sure they were well hidden.

He had driven to what seemed like the least used part of the park and pulled up under the edge of the forest. They were well covered, but still able to make a quick getaway. Darcy had fallen asleep almost instantly.

Then they were back on the road again (after a quick stop at a toilet block meant for actual campers so that Darcy wouldn't have to 'pee in a bush'), making good time down the I-80. Darcy had fiddled with the radio as he drove, but all the songs were unfamiliar to him. Too loud, too fast. He wondered if he had liked music, before.

After yesterday's chase, the Soldier kept an eye out for any tails. There were none, not so much as a glimpse of the same car twice in the twelve hours that he had planned to drive. By then it was early evening. He sent Darcy into a small store off the main highway and they ate as he drove. Another three hours wouldn't kill him, and they needed to be sure they were ahead of Hydra.

By the time they stopped in a sheltered ahead near Middletown, Ohio he knew it was a mistake.

He was exhausted. His eyes were closing against his own violation, even as he tried to find somewhere to pull up for the night. He struggled on, making sure the perimeter was safe, and checking that they couldn't be seen from anywhere people might pass by chance. The cover of the trees provided a good shelter and once again he planned to spend the night on the bed of the truck.

By the time he returned, Darcy had laid out some of the blankets they had found in the back of the truck for him.

'You need sleep,' she insisted gently as he tried to refuse. 'No one will find us here, we're safe.'

He knew that she was probably right, but probably was not definitely. He ate the energy bar she handed him, and studied her as she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. She had definitely lost some weight since he first saw her. He wondered if he should try to get her to eat more every time they stopped for food. Maybe they could try to find a diner somewhere off the beaten track. But that meant people, and people meant eyes, eyes that would see him.

'Goodnight,' Darcy said pointedly, her thin eyebrows raised until he lay down on his back, looking up at the canopy of leaves.

She was asleep by the time he thought to reply. 'Goodnight, Darcy.'

/-/

_The dreams started with Darcy. He saw her watching him, smiling at him. She reached out her hand to him, but when he placed his metal hand in hers she backed away from him in terror. Her eyes widened as she took hasty steps away from him, he moved one step towards her. She opened her mouth and screamed…_

_There was screaming and confusion all around him. He slung his rifle into a bag and walked away from the hill while the world looked the other direction, towards the towering buildings. The woman in the car still screamed for her husband, but no one could help her now…_

_A black SUV hurtled down the street towards him, and the Soldier fired one disk before moving to the side, the burning wreckage screeching past him, he waited…_

_A car wreck in the desert this time, and a woman. A girl, trying to protect the target. She was merely an inconvenience, an object to go around, or through. As the bullet reached it mark he saw the man fall, and watched as the woman's shirt bloomed with a pattern the same shade of red as her hair…_

_Flames licked up behind him as he shouted to the man on the other side of the bridge, his face hidden by smoke. 'Not without you!' He watched as the man made the jump, defying all laws of physics…_

_He was jumping himself. No, not jumping, falling. Falling from high in the mountains, into shadow and despair._

_Everything went blank._

_And then he was under the ice, being pulled from it… His vision blurred and suddenly he found himself strapped to a table. His arm was on fire, and then it wasn't. A face, a tall man with glasses peered down at him._

'_Wipe his mind,' he said in Russian, 'let the asset be born.'_

'James, wake up! Please!'

_He wrenched his new arm free, amazed at the strength it possessed. He wound his fingers around the throat of his tormentor. Watching the life drain out of him as the man whispered, 'Hail Hydra'._

'James? Bucky? Please!'

_He knew that voice. A woman's voice._

The Soldier was awakened by the feeling of an open-handed slap to the cheek. Within seconds he had pinned his assailant to the ground. But this was not one of the Russians. Darcy stared back at him with wide eyes, her mouth slightly open as she gasped for the air he had knocked from her lungs. _That_ particular image brought the start of his dream back into sharp focus.

He pulled himself back to reality, still looming over Darcy with his hands either side of her face.

'James?' her timid voice broke his line of thought.

Disgust filled him as that thought sunk in. He scrambled to the far side of the truck bed, his back against the cab, watching as she sat up slowly. She kept eye contact with him the whole time. 'I…' he started, but found himself at a loss for words, 'Darcy, I…'

'I'm sorry.' she said, and in the silence of the surroundings her whisper sounded like a shout. 'I thought… I mean… I thought you were having a panic attack.'

'A nightmare,' he replied, knowing that it was only half the truth. _Memories_. 'I never meant to hurt you, Darcy.'

'I know,' she whispered, 'you just scared me, that's all.'

'I'm sorry, fuck, I'm so sorry.' He put his head in his hands. 'I never meant for you to be afraid of me,' he whispered, more to himself than to her.

He heard rather than saw as Darcy rose to her knees, keeping the blanket around her shoulders, and crawled over to him. The Soldier started, but didn't stop her as she took both his hands in his. He couldn't help but feel a sense of revulsion as he saw the metal of his left enclosed in her small, warm hand.

'Does this bother you?' she asked, turning his hand over in hers.

'No.' _Yes_.

She made a soft humming sound before ducking her head slight to meet his eyes. 'You didn't hurt me,' her sincerity was obvious in every word.

She kept hold of his hand, his flesh and blood hand, as shifted her position, leaning into his shoulder. 'Sleep,' she implored him, closing her own eyes and squeezing her fingers around his ever so gently.

Her pale skin seemed to glow in the moonlight, her chest rising and falling seemingly in tandem with his own, both their hearts beginning to calm. Some of her hair was tangled in his hand, his real hand, and he could feel the silky curls. Dark blue eyes stared straight into his, waiting from his to get his shit together, he knew. And, for just a moment, he let his gaze rest on her full red mouth. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her.

That sent a whole other barrage of memories into his head.

_He saw a girl with dark curls like Darcy's, wearing a cream skirt and cardigan. She smiled at him as they danced, but he knew her smiles were empty…_

_A blonde woman this time, simpering and giggling as they took advantage of sitting in the back of the movie theatre…_

_James teasing a smaller, thinner boy that soon he would be the last single man in New York after the rest shipped out…_

Within minutes Darcy was asleep and the Soldier watched as she unknowingly buried her nose in his chest and rested her cheek against his collarbone. She was really something this girl, and he didn't quite know what to make of her. What he did know was that she was brave, and kind, and beautiful. His desire to kiss her had not abated, instead he settled for pulling her blanket around her to keep her warm.

Darcy deserved better than him. Better than a man who didn't know who he was, where he had come from. But it didn't stop him from wanting her.

/-/

When he woke in the morning he found their hands still entwined.

He thought back to the previous night, how Darcy had tried to calm him, to help him. She was a lot stronger than she seemed. She was strong in ways he wasn't.

As the dawn broke he tried to remember the dreams that had plagued him. He knew they must be memories, must be more than mere dreams, but on their own they didn't make any sense. The only thing that seemed to unite them was James, though the man from Washington and the skinny kid appeared in quite a number of them. He wished he knew more.

The last memory had seemed the most important. It was the memory which made the gall rise in this throat, that made the red mist of battle descend more than any other. If he unlocked that, it might be the key. If only he had had a few more seconds before…

'Morning, James.'

He froze, as Darcy stretched and looked up at him with a smile. A far more recent memory clamouring for attention. A memory from last night, of the words Darcy had spoken when he was still dreaming.

'You called me Bucky.'

**Author's Notes**

The plot thickens…

The dream sequence is based on the Soldier's experiences both as the Winter Soldier and before, though I will admit to taking liberties with the second (can anyone work out what it's meant to be?). I modelled it after my own thought process, the ability for one memory to trigger another through a sound, a word, an idea. Hopefully you can see the links here.

As ever, I own nothing recognisable. As of this week I do, however, own _Captain America: The Winter Soldier _on BluRay.

Reviews are always appreciated, especially as they motivate me to write more!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

As the sunlight broke through the trees the clearing seemed to come alive. There were muffled thumps of rabbits running through the fallen leaves, and the soft swishing sound of wings in the canopy of branches overhead. The day was beginning but the inhabitants of the woodland seemed oblivious to the devastating revelation that had just pitched the Soldier's world sideways.

He watched as Darcy floundered, her mouth opened slightly but making no sound.

'You know.'

She nodded silently, her eyes still burning into his.

It was as if she was changing before his very eyes, even though she had neither moved nor spoken. The soldier's whole perception of the woman in front of him was crumbling. He had trusted her. He had even started to admit to himself that he _liked _her. As a person, as a woman. There was something about her that had intrigued him, with her vibrant eyes and the hints of a vivacious personality hidden just below the surface of their situation and her worry. She had even started to remind him of what it was like to be human, what it was like to be a man.

What a fool he was. He had bought her wide eyed, innocent act and dismissed the possibility that she might be a spy or a plant. The betrayal he felt was overwhelming. She was just another manipulator, another handler bending him to her will. Just like Hydra.

_No_, his mind warred. _She could never be like them. She was gentle and kind._

_She was buying my trust, _he thought viciously.

Then came the rage, the red mist of battle that he had previously longed for. His fists tightened as his side and he gritted his teeth. He considered his options. If the girl was a spy it would be better to get rid of her now. It was a secluded area, they were alone. No one would know.

As soon as the thought entered his mind he felt the tiny remaining scrap of his conscious, the part of him that she called James, protest violently.

There were questions he needed answered, he told himself. Before he made any tactical decisions about his next move he needed to know what she knew.

'Who are you?' He asked. His voice was flat and he betrayed no emotion, trying to remain calm.

If anything his dull voice seemed to startle Darcy more than he anger might have. 'James, please,' she whispered.

'Answer the question.' He demanded in monotone.

'Darcy Lewis. I work with Steve Rogers, the man you were sent to kill in DC.'

Another flash of memory, the man she was talking about standing over him, ripping something away from his arms. _'I joined the army.'_

'So you're SHIELD? Hydra?' He felt the bile rising in his throat and tried to ignore it.

Darcy shook her head. 'No, not SHIELD. I work for the Avengers, for Steve and his friends. I've dealt with SHIELD before but I was never part of it, or Hydra.'

'Why were you in the cell?'

She shrugged her shoulders gently. 'I don't know. I think they wanted to use me as bait to draw out the Av… my friends.' Her voice was stead, even though her face looked uncertain, wary. Her cheeks didn't colour and her eyes remained on him. _She's telling the truth_, he forced himself to admit.

Darcy continued, 'I was out for lunch with my friend's boyfriend, Thor. Have you… do you know who he is?' she asked. The Soldier didn't respond. He watched as Darcy's hand went up to touch the silver necklace she wore. He noticed its shape for the first time as she nervously twisted it between her fingers. It was a lightning bolt, the void between its straight lines filled with swirling Celtic loops and arches. She dropped her hand slowly as he persisted in staring at her, waiting.

She continued, a little more shakily than before. 'He's one of the group people call the Avengers. They… save people, I guess. Whoever took me wanted them to come after me.'

'_Til the end of the line.'_

'We were out at lunch and I went to the bathroom. I remember some guy kind of brushing past me in the corridor and then I felt dizzy. The next thing I knew I was being dragged into the cell.'

Her story was credible. She was not showing any of the typical signs of lying. The solider wondered how he knew what those were and, once again unbidden, a memory of a thin blond boy, lying about not being sick even as he was bent double by coughs that wracked his body, played behind his eyes.

'How did you know who I was?' An even more disturbing thought came into his mind. '_When_ did you know who I was?'

'I knew from the second I saw you,' she said, with no hesitation. Her mesmerizingly deep blue eyes continued to hold his. 'I knew instantly. I loved history, growing up, loved hearing all about tales of bravery and friendship. My grandfather had been in the one-oh-seventh…'

'_Private Barnes, reporting for duty.'_

'… and he told me all about the Howling Commandos…'

'_That's the most stupid plan I ever heard, Dugan. But what the hell?'_

'Then the world went mad, aliens came to earth, and the world security organisation collapses and I ended up in New York surrounded by all these amazing people who I had no place among, and I got to know Steve.'

There was that name again, James thought, the name that kept triggering confusing memories. This time of a flash blue and red, and the smell of gunpowder.

'Even if I hadn't grown up knowing who you are,' Darcy continued, 'I've seen your face so many times over the last few months. He's looking for you, you know?' Her voice had been growing in confidence as she spoke but now she paused. 'I… This probably isn't making much sense to you, is it?'

As sudden as a lightning strike, James realised that he was reading the situation entirely wrong.

He looked into Darcy's wide eyes, taking into account the way she bit her bottom lip, and the way she sat with her body open to him, completely innocent and vulnerable. She was telling the absolute truth. Really, he had known that from the second she started to explain. But what she was telling him was opening up another world of possibilities which filled him with equal amounts of wonder and terror.

She knew more about him than he did.

She knew who he was, where he had come from. She knew who Bucky Barnes was.

And she would help him. He knew that instinctively.

'No, it doesn't,' he admitted, answering her previous question. 'But I want it to.' He held out his hand to her in an echo of her attempts to calm him the previous night. 'Please,' he whispered, his voice hoarse, 'will you tell me?'

Those unrelenting eyes kept studying him. She worried her lip so much that James was worried she might draw blood. Eventually she placed her hand in his and squeezed gently, interlocking her fingers into his.

'I'll tell you what I know,' she said, 'the rest… well, it might be easier to show you.' He must have frowned, as she continued. 'We're not far from DC. There's an exhibition there, it might help more than I can.'

He nodded in agreement. The prospect of going back to the city where so many of his recent memories had been formed didn't exactly thrill him, but he would do whatever she wanted if she was willing to help.

'Do you know your full name?' Darcy asked, cautiously, squeezing his fingers to offer her support even as she asked.

'James Buchanan Barnes,' he told her, 'the man from DC… Steve, he told me.' He didn't speak the other names he knew for himself out loud: soldier, asset.

'You and Steve were both born in Brooklyn, New York, in 1921. You grew up together.' Her expression was soft as she moved her other hand to rest on his arm. 'I know because I've heard Steve talk about you so often.

'The brief version is that you both joined the army during the war. You were lost on a mission and declared missing in action. Your unit wanted to go and look for your b… you,' she stumbled with an apologetic smile, 'but then they were sent on another mission. That time it was Steve who didn't come home. He was lost for over seventy years, but that's a story I can explain better in DC. As far as the world knew, you were lost too.'

'But then he found me.' James supplied. 'How do you know all this?' he asked, still wondering at her knowledge.

'A few years ago there was an… attack on New York. I know it sounds unbelievable, but now we know that there are aliens, and people with nuclear super powers, and all this other scary crap that didn't exist before. At least not officially,' she said with a smile that spoke of irony. 'About a year before that I was in New Mexico, finishing my degree, and I was one of the first people to meet one of the aliens.'

'Let me guess, he's not small and green?' James asked, with a flash of a smile.

Darcy smiled back at him, her face open and honest. 'No, he's seven foot, blond and beefy. Although, I do have another friend who is occasionally big and green. Anyway, because I was there when Thor came to earth, I got involved in this whole crazy mess of a world and, after a brief relocation to Tromso and London (and that is _really_ a story for another day), I ended up in New York with my friend slash boss-lady, Jane. One of the powers that be decided that since I was good at organising things, and getting reluctant people to do what I want I would be good at wrangling a group of superheroes.'

'So you were kidnapped so Hydra could get to them,' James asked, trying to connect the dots in the story she told. 'These people you work with.'

'Yes,' she nodded, 'they wanted my friends to come for me. To use me as bait.'

James reflected on all she had been through. Even though she hadn't given him many details on her life, it was clear that she had endured a lot in her short life.

'What age are you?' He wasn't even aware he had vocalised the though until he heard her answer.

'Twenty-five,' she replied, and her smile contained a hint of mischief. 'That makes you a year younger than me, technically. Even though I suppose you should be ninety-three. You know, legally.'

'I'm probably older,' he said, and the words flowed from his mouth without thought, 'they had me in and out of cryo quite a lot.'

Darcy froze. Not in fear, but in surprise. 'Did you just...?'

James nodded, dumbstruck. 'I remembered.' He could feel a slow smile spreading across his face. 'I remembered something.'

Darcy's answering smile was brilliant. But there was something he still had to check.

'I still don't understand how you know so much about me.' He confessed.

'I guess that's what happens when you live with someone,' she said simply, with a fond smile, 'you get to hear all their stories about the friends they miss. Steve's always talking about you.'

An irrational surge of hatred and jealous flared in his chest.

'So, you and… Steve…' He left his sentence unfinished.

And to his surprise she chuckled. 'No! Steve and I are just friends. He's… well, he's not my type.'

James could feel his heartbeat increase as he leaned closer to her and almost whispered. 'And what is your type?'

She made a nervous little humming noise, and James saw her breath hitch. It had been a long time since he interacted with women but he really hoped he was reading the redness of her cheeks and her quickening breathing correctly. 'I thought that was obvious.'

At that moment he forgot the thoughts he had time what seemed like a lifetime ago about her deserving better. Darcy was here, she was helping him, and she was everything he had ever imagined wanting in a dame. He pressed his lips to her with no further hesitation.

In ways it might as well have been his first kiss. He had no memories of anyone apart from Darcy, but where his mind couldn't remember his body certainly did. He moved his lips against hers with certainty, and found her responding with just as much enthusiasm. He had been attracted to her red lips from the second he saw her, he admitted to himself as they pulled apart, both gasping for air.

In that moment there was no need for any words.

/-/

As if by silent agreement they packed up, and jumped back into the truck.

A comfortable silence existed between the two for an immeasurable period of time.

Until Darcy spotted a payphone at the side of the road.

/-/

Miles away Steve Rogers was disturbed from his destruction of a rather helpless punching bag by the obnoxious ringing of a cell phone.

**Author's Notes**

I am _so _sorry for the delay.

This chapter was, by far, the most difficult to write. Mostly because it is so dialogue heavy and I couldn't see any way of avoiding that. It also started to develop a life of its own the more I wrote. Suddenly the plot was going in a completely different direction than I had initially planned.

On a positive note, the next chapter is nearly completed and should be up within a week.

As ever, I own nothing you recognise.

Reviews are always appreciated, especially after all this time!


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Steve knew by the tone his phone was emitting it was Stark, and he wasn't in the mood to deal with the man's increasingly erratic behaviour. He understood the reason for it, but they were all worried and frustrated by the disappearance of their co-worker. They were all just dealing with it in different ways.

In the few months since Darcy had been recruited by Stark as the Avenger's Coordinator, she had slowly but surely wormed her way into all of their hearts. Steve wasn't sure what he actual job description was beyond organising meetings to do with public relations, and being a link between the Avengers and the US government (and that Darcy was fiercely proud of the fact that she was actually using her Political Science degree), but she was the one who made sure that Bruce was eating properly when he got lost in his research, and that Clint had someone to discuss music with after a mission had taken the spark out of him. She made sure that Thor had a guide for how to deal with press interviews, and that Natasha had another female to bond with on the rare occasion that the assassin needed some girl time. She watched old movies with Steve and gently explained the finer points of recent history and politics with him when he came across something he didn't understand. She had welcomed Sam onto the team immediately and had the same fierce loyalty towards him as he had shown to Steve. She traded sarcasm and pop culture references that Steve couldn't follow with Tony and made sure that Stark interacted with the rest of the team, rather than retreat into his labs for indefinite periods of time.

The argument that transpired in the hours after she was taken had nearly seen an irreparable rift in the team. Thor blamed himself; she had been with him when it happened. Tony blamed Thor as well. As usual, when Stark was scared he lashed out at everything and everyone around him. Steve knew that Darcy had become part of their pseudo family, but Tony needed to realise that she was like a sister to them all, and that they were all worried.

He hadn't emerged from his lab, never mind made contact with the rest of the team. They were falling apart as they searched for her. The invasion of New York might have been what brought the Avengers together, the jump that had started the engine, but Darcy was the oil that kept everything running. Without her…

Steve threw off his gloves and picked up the cell phone. The screen displayed three words that almost stopped Steve's breath:

_She made contact._

He sprinted for Tony's lab. Bruce was already there, scribbling furiously on a notepad, while Jane Foster looked over his shoulder, clearly close to tears. They were the only ones in the tower, Steve knew. Thor had gone to Asgard to get help from their far-seeing gatekeeper, Heimdall, while Clint was chasing down any leads with former military colleagues. He had no idea where Natasha was, due to his moral code they mostly operated on a 'don't ask, don't tell' policy these days.

Tony sat at his desk, in front of the huge screen displaying every piece of information they knew about Darcy's life and every lead that had been pursued and had fallen through. Clearly he had not been idle even while isolating himself.

Wordlessly, Tony started playing the recording.

Darcy's voice filled the lab.

'_Hey big daddy boss man, just checkin' in from my rocking road trip. Man, are we having some fun. Reminds me of the time you decided to spend some time with Shakespeare. I love the Scottish play, "She'll remain close, and be herself, whilst our poor malice remains in danger of her former tooth", such great imagery. Anyway, just checking in to make sure everyone's okay and you're not missing me too much back home. Remember the house words, boss man! Gotta go, love you all.'_

She sounded… like herself. Her voice betrayed only a little anxiety and her tone was a lively and carefree as it was when she spoke about what she was going to make for dinner. But her words, Steve understood their individual meaning, but strung together like that they made no sense.

'That's all there is.' Tony said, breaking the silence. Steve felt his antagonism for the other man drain away as he heard the desperation in his voice,

'I don't… I can't… What does it mean?' Steve asked, his eyes flicking to each of his comrades.

'We don't know,' Jane whispered brokenly. 'We can't trace the call because it was blocked somehow, she called straight to the emergency number we have for JARVIS and left the recording.'

'How long ago?' Steve asked.

'Less than an hour,' Bruce was the one who answered this time, 'but we know it was definitely her, it wasn't pre-recorded, so that means…'

'She's still alive,' Steve finished, feeling a sense of relief. It was the best news they'd had in days. 'JARVIS, can you create a transcript of the recording?'

'Of course, Captain,' the disembodied voice of JARVIS replied, the words appearing almost instantly on the screen in front of Tony.

It just seemed like nonsense. 'I don't understand any of those references,' he muttered weakly.

Steve heard Tony's sharp intake of breath, before he swung round in his chair. 'What did you say?'

'Well, I'm assuming that "big daddy boss man" is you, and I can never follow Darcy and you when…'

'Rogers, you're a genius.' Tony said, with wide eyes.

'Okay, people let's think.' Bruce said, ripping the top page of his notepad and discarding it. 'One sentence at a time. She says "just checkin' in from my rocking road trip".'

'Maybe she's reassuring us,' Jane suggested quietly, 'letting us know she really is okay.'

'And that's she's on our way back to us,' Steve said, 'or maybe they're moving her.'

'No,' Tony said, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, 'she would have said something different if they were moving, mentioned Barton or the circus, something like that.'

'Right,' Bruce agreed, '"Man, are we having some fun".'

'She said "we", didn't she?' Steve clarified.

'She's with someone else,' Tony agreed.

Bruce continued, '"Reminds me of the time you decided to spend some time with Shakespeare. I love the Scottish play". I can't see you as a fan of the Bard, Tony.'

'She means Thor,' Jane interjected, 'she started calling him that after she heard about you insulting him when you met.'

At any other moment that would have pulled a smile from Stark. 'The only time we ever went out without the rest of the Avengers was when we went to that stupid gallery opening…'

'And ended up being chased by armed assailants.' Steve said quietly. 'She's being hunted.'

'By a woman, maybe? That's what the next bit suggests,' Bruce said, pushing his glasses up his nose as he peered at the screen.

'It would appear Miss Lewis is quoting from _Macbeth_, sir,' JARVIS intoned, 'shall I display the passage?'

Tony gave an affirmative. _The Scottish play_, Steve thought, Darcy really was a lot more intelligent that most people gave her credit for. He searched the screen for the words Darcy said.

_She'll remain close, and be herself, whilst our poor malice_

_Remains in danger of her former tooth_

'The line above,' Jane whispered as Tony let out an expletive.

_We have scorched the snake, not killed it_

Steve felt his mouth go dry. _Cut off a head, two more will take its place_. 'Hydra,' he croaked.

Stark nodded, 'But she doesn't want us to go looking for her,' he say waving his hand towards the next phrase of Darcy's monologue. 'And that's not the worst bit. "Remember the house words, boss man".' He paused, pulling up an email from Darcy, sent over a month ago. 'You know that TV show she watches religiously? There's a family in it called the Starks, she kept quoting it to me for months.' He opened a picture attachment, something that was so very Darcy. It was clearly a manipulated image, Tony's head on top of the body of a man wearing a dark cloak with a fur collar, holding a long sword almost as tall as him. At the bottom of the picture, blocking writing declared that _Winter is Coming_.

'Steve, she means Barnes,' Tony said, his voice low and sure, 'she's found the Winter Soldier.'

**Author's Notes**

Another chapter up (and in pretty good time, may I add!).

This was actually one of the very first ideas I had for the story: how Darcy could communicate a message without saying anything that might be picked up by Hydra. I hope you followed her (read: my) twisted logic.

As ever, I own nothing you recognise.

Reviews are **always** appreciated!


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

After they had parked up beside the payphone the Soldier had watched as Darcy scribbled notes on the back of their maps, mumbling to herself as she tried to concoct her message.

Her plan was simple and, in its own way, brilliant. She had explained it to him as she tried to find the words for her small piece of theatricality.

'_My landlord, the mechanic I told you about, is Tony Stark. His father Howard worked with you when you were part of the Commandos.'_

_An image of a dark haired man with a moustache and a permanent grin on his face came to mind, and the soldier nodded. That was Howard, he was certain._

'_Anyway, Tony is one of the Avengers. He's a genius, like a _real_ genius. He made billions of dollars in the arms industry before he… had a life altering experience. Maybe he'll explain it to you, one day. Long story short, he built himself a mechanised suit of armour and became a superhero. He's a great person, all the Avengers are. He can be rude, and crass, and _really _inappropriate, but he took me in and gave me a job and a home. We kind of bonded more than other members of the team, I suppose. We're both big geeks at heart. That means, uh…' She paused, her brow furrowing, 'I can't really explain what that means without terms of reference, I guess. But Tony and I, we have our own sort of secret language.'_

So he had listened to her utterly incomprehensible monologue before they set out again, tearing down the highway with renewed conviction. Every mile that rolled under the tyres was a mile closer to his past, his memories.

As their journey continued James asked Darcy about her life and the people she worked with. In those few hours she opened up to him even more than she had previously done.

She told him about coming to work for Tony Stark and settling into life at Stark Tower in New York. About packing up her life time and time again. First to go off to university, then to complete an internship with Doctor Jane Foster before aliens/gods/Norse myths started falling out of the sky. She told him about being shipped to Tromso with Foster when the threat of war was breaking out in New York, and later moving to London to continue aiding Doctor Foster in her research.

She told him about the different members of the group she called the Avengers, her friends. About Tony and his generosity in offering her a job she was good at, working with the people she loved.

She told him about Bruce Banner, the quiet and unassuming man who could turn into a monster at the blink of an eye, but with whom she shared a love of fantasy literature and herbal tea.

She spoke of Clint Barton, one of the few members of her team who didn't have any extra abilities to aid him, simply his own skills and intelligence. He could hear the respect Darcy had for him creeping into the tone of her voice.

Next, she spoke of Natasha Romanoff, and very diplomatically said that he had met her a few times before. She refused to say more; that it wasn't her story to tell.

She narrated her friendship with Thor at great length. James had already heard a lot about him as she spoke about the reasons for her nomadic living, but as she explained the concept of aliens and other realms James started to feel that maybe this strange world he inhabited might just have room for another oddity like him.

When he expressed this sentiment out loud, almost without thought, he half expected Darcy to give him a look of pity. Instead she absolutely beamed at him.

It didn't escape his notice that she said very little about the man she claimed had been his best friend in his former life. She was letting him remember as much as he could himself, he realised, without her views on Steve clouding his judgement. For that, he decided, he was grateful.

Eventually Darcy's voice tapered off. James turned to look at her and saw her considering his face carefully, her bottom lip between her teeth. She had no idea how attractive he found that nervous habit.

Darcy must have noticed the darkening of his eyes, as she let go of her lip and looked down at her lap, blushing.

'You can't do that to me when I'm meant to be concentrating on the road, doll.' James said, shifting slightly in his seat to try and relieve the uncomfortable situation he found himself in.

A quick glance back at her showed Darcy's blush darkening. 'And you can't talk forties to me without turning me on,' she muttered, her hands twisting in her lap. James wasn't entirely sure he was meant to have heard her, but he smiled. It was nice to know she was as affected by him as he was by her. He hadn't been able to get her out of his head all day. He kept thinking back to that kiss…

'James, we need to talk about what happens when we get to New York.'

His hands tightened on the wheel. He knew that they would have to have some conversation about what was going on between them, he just didn't expect it to happen now, before he had come to terms with who he was, who he had been.

He had the sense that, back when he was a teenager, being casual with girls was no issue. But what he felt for Darcy wasn't like that. Honestly, he had no frame of reference for what he felt about her, but he knew she was important. That was enough for now.

Darcy was speaking again, and he forced himself to listen to her words.

'… I just think it would be good for you to meet them before you decide what to do next.'

James was confused. 'Doll, slow down. What are you saying?'

She stopped the motion of her hands and looked back up at him. 'I want you to think about coming with me to meet the Avengers, especially Steve. After that, if you want to go on to… wherever you were going before all this, then…' she trailed off.

What she hadn't said was anything about their relationship, if he could call it that. What she was asking him to do was big, but it was about him, not her, and James thought he might just love her a little for that. Even now, after everything, she was putting him first.

'I'll think about it,' he promised, 'ask me again after we've got through today.'

/-/

When they arrived in DC, against every instinct he had and every bit of training he had every received, James tried very hard not to notice his surroundings.

He tried not to see the destruction, the ruined buildings, the torn streets.

As Darcy directed him to the museum her hand came to rest over his on the gear shift. The ironic of her natural responses to their surroundings didn't escape him. Her instinct was to comfort, to support. His was to protect, and he realised with a sudden jolt that that instinct had naturally been extended to include Darcy as well as himself. His conditioning was slowly breaking down. How could he have ever considered even half the things he had done since he had last been in this city, while under Hydra's control?

He parked the truck as far away from any cameras as he could manage. Darcy pulled on her sunglasses, and left her hair hanging over her face like a curtain, while James shoved his hair under a ball cap and kept his head low.

_This was a bad idea_, he thought to himself as he allowed Darcy to pull him through the crowds of people. Someone might recognise him. They were losing precious time. He was putting her in danger.

He had almost decided to turn and drag Darcy back to the truck when he saw it.

It was impossible, he thought, as his feet carried him without conscious thought to stand in front of the image. Yet there it was. The man's face looked determined, his gaze slightly off centre. He looked young, and healthy, and whole. James realised in that moment that he had not fully believed what Darcy had been telling him until this moment. He raised his hand to lean against the panel, his mind spinning.

To the outside world, he recognised, there seemed to be nothing unusual about the figure he cast. A man in a worn shirt and cap, standing in front of one of the many panels of information held in the building.

He read the words.

Words about friendship.

Loyalty.

Sacrifice.

Words about a past he was starting to remember.

He read them again, and again, his eyes taking in every detail of the room, the pictures, the clothes, the old motorbike.

What had previously been a slow trickle of memories returning to him was now a river in full flood. It was as if a door had been opened in his mind and, suddenly, there was a barrage of thoughts and experiences and memories clamouring for his attention.

As he looked at the chart showing the physical change Steve Rodgers had undergone to become Captain America he remembered going to the Stark Expo in New York, and telling his scrawny, brave, bull-headed, extraordinary best friend that he was shipping out.

The motorbike reminded him of the next time he saw Steve, a very different _looking_ Steve, displaying that same loyalty and bravery by risking his own life to save him and so many others.

Looking at the clothes he could remember the rest of their unit: The Howling Commandos. It was a shock to him to remember that all (save one other) were long dead, and that some of the pieces he could see around him had been donated to the museum by their children and grandchildren.

He remembered one thousand and one inconsequential things that, combined, meant more than he could ever hope to measure.

Then came the last memory, and his fists clenched. He remembered fighting with the Hydra soldier in the metal suit, and falling from the train into the ice as Steve grabbed for his hand. He saw again the face of the Hydra agent and the start of his life as The Winter Soldier.

'James?' Darcy's gentle voice broke through his thoughts as she placed her hand in his. He turned to look at her. Darcy squeezed his hand gently and offered him a soft, understanding smile. 'Have you made your decision?'

'Yes,' he said, his voice made strong by the depth of his conviction. He knew that he had to do this, for her and for himself. 'I'll do it. I'll go with you.'

**Author's Notes**

We're getting close to the finale now.

As ever, I own nothing you recognise.

Reviews are **always** appreciated!


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